


1969

by emma_and_orlando



Series: Froger Week [7]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: 60’s au, Designer!Freddie, First Meetings, Hippie!Roger, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Roger is a Sweetheart, Shy!Freddie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 06:40:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21387775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emma_and_orlando/pseuds/emma_and_orlando
Summary: Freddie used to be the designer for The Beatles. That is, until the band unexpectedly breaks up and he is left jobless.
Relationships: Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor
Series: Froger Week [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536466
Comments: 12
Kudos: 53
Collections: Froger!Week 2019





	1969

**Author's Note:**

> Just a reminder:
> 
> my work in no way discredits Freddie as a homosexual, person of color, who passed away due to complications from aids. If you would like to participate in a debate about these critical subjects, do it somewhere else.
> 
> Fanfiction does not have to be plausible. If you want something written a certain way, feel free to write your own fanfiction ❤️
> 
> Don’t like = Don’t read  
Enjoy it, sweethearts

"This morning the band has signed the papers. They are breaking up." He sighs. Hands clasping behind his back as he stands by the head of the table. "I'm sorry guys"

Of course Freddie had known this meeting would be bad, but not _that_ bad.

The tensions had been rising between the members. It must have boiled over and resulted into the end.

Opposite of Freddie, Mark peeks up from between his fingers. Looking lost. 

"But what about our jobs?"

"They are very sorry but due to personal reasons they can't continue on as a band. They have families and-"

"What about our families." Jen insists. 

Her voice wavers. Freddie feels the same emotional fog hanging over the room.

Everyone is still looking up at the chairman. Though he offers no comfort but a strangled sigh. 

"They gave their sincere apologies."

"Not sincere enough to come down and tell us themselves." Jen snides. Her voice cuts through Freddie’s throat and for a moment he can’t breathe. 

He knows he'll receive a call from George tonight with an elaborate apology Freddie could never decline. Paul will send him a letter. 

Even though Freddie was the designer of the band, Ringo never let him dress him up. John liked to pick his own outfits.

These had been the best four years of Freddie's life. Mostly tending to George and occasionally Paul when he had any special occasions. Freddie has no idea what will ever top working with the most genius band alive. 

His heart sinks into his platform shoes.

He can’t stand the voice of the chairman for a second longer. The familiar sensation of tears forming in the corners of his eyes, sets Freddie into motion.

Within a moment he pushes himself away from the table and stiffly grabs his purse to leave the room.

"Hey-” Someone. Mark- Logan, calls after him. “Where are you going?"

"Out. I don't believe I have a job here anymore."

Is the last thing he says before the glass door slams closed behind him. Freddie’s heart pounds harder than the thundering sound.

The dread of his unemployed settles deep into his stomach. 

Freddie all but stumbles out of Abbey Road Studios without watching his step. He nearly doubles over when he scrambles to get away from the damned place. He wishes he didn’t care that people were looking, but he does.

He clutches his fur coat around himself tightly against the cold early spring wind. The coat George Harrison had given him. 

It hides most of his face and makes him anonymous for the moment. 

By now he should have gotten used to the looks he gets for his clothes and makeup, but he hasn’t. Especially not when he’s in this mood and can’t hold his head up in pride.

With loud click clacks, his platform heels carry him across the street to the end of the road.

Freddie usually gets a drive home by Brian, but today he’s off much earlier than him. With being fired and all. 

The cold luckily doesn’t bleed through his coat. 

The wind still carries the cold and bites the exposed tip of his nose. 

He shivers. Waiting by the corner of the street for a cab to stop while contemplating how many months he can live without employment.

It would have been wise if he had saved some if his salary of the past few years, but Freddie had never been financially savvy. He’ll have to ask John to run some numbers for him.

Perhaps Freddie can get a good recommend from George and find a new job.

Freddie sighs. Wrapping his arms around himself when yet another cab ignores his hand gesture and passes him. 

He thinks. Lips pressed in a thin line.

Freddie never liked being alone with his thoughts. That’s why he likes to talk, party or listen to music.

He knows the fans will be upset when the news comes out. 

Not only has the band been barely together for 10 years, but they're at the peak of their careers. _Nobody_ expects them to stop now. Maybe except themselves. 

Freddie too had been at the peak of his career.

Fashion has always been his expertise. He isn’t sure if there’s anything else he can excel im. If he can’t find something in the designer field, he’ll have to slave away at some retail job.

The idea makes him physically shudder. 

"Hey, you?"

Freddie is pushed out of his thoughts blinks his eyes open. He instinctively makes himself look bigger, stronger. 

Strangers yelling at him on the street usually didn’t mean much good and he has to assert his dominance. He cranes his neck to the direction of the cutting voice. 

With the lack of success in getting an early cab home, Freddie's dark eyes shift over to the dodgy figure on top of his car only a few steps away from him. The man at first sight is obviously a hippie, or homeless, with his long blond hair shielding half his face and a cigarette dangling from his lips. He looks unwashed, young and spirited. 

"Me?" Freddie asks, unsure. Pointing at his own chest even though nobody else is in close enough proximity to be confused with. 

The blond man nods at him. 

“Yes you.”

Freddie stops trying to haul a taxi. None ever take him anyway, with his black painted nails, high platform shoes and heavy eyeliner. 

That is exactly why he tends to rely on friends to take him from place to place. 

Feeling strangely alone and his stomach hurting from the misfortune of his day, Freddie takes comfort in the hippies easy smile smile and clear round glasses perched upon his nose. 

The sun catches the beats on his colorful necklaces and wide flared shirt. Brown cords and threads sweeping at the ends of his clothes and sleeves. 

His long legs dangle down the car, swaying on the rhythm of the music he's playing.

_Of course_ it's the Beatles, Freddie thinks grimly. 

"Why the long face, stranger?" He asks. “Did they cancel the fancy party you were off to.” 

It could have been an insult, but the words are spoken with such ease and simplicity that Freddie by no means feels mocked.

“I think you look lovely, no need for such a frown.” 

Freddie is instantly drawn in by the wisp of the mans voice as he continues to speak. Delicate and high for a man. He steps closer to the beat up car, windows cracked wide open and the music gets slightly louder, though not loud enough to disturb anyone who walks by.

To humor him, Freddie shrugs under his thick fur coat. Shielding his eyes from the blinding sun while he glances up at the golden figure. 

"Think I might've just lost my job, Darling."

The mans blue eyes soften slightly, dragging the half finished cigarette from his lips, before patting the roof of the car beside him. 

"Wanna join me?" 

Freddie lets out a laugh. _How odd. _

"I was taught to never get in a strangers car."

"Well, you're not exactly getting in my car, you're getting on it." He bounces back easily, his eyes wrinkling behind his glasses whenever he is caught in a smile.

It takes Freddie's breath away. 

He glances around the mostly empty street one last time to make sure no more taxis are coming by to possibly take him home, before he assesses the car situation before him.

"How would I even get up there?" He asks, whilst gesturing to his high heeled shoes.

The blond man doesn't hesitate to offer Freddie a hand. The older man takes it, using the opened window of the car to put his foot onto, while the stranger pulls him up onto the roof.

Freddie lands on his butt with a huff. The other man turns to him and grins freely, offering his cigarette to Freddie's plum lips. 

Freddie parts them and takes the end of it between his teeth. Inhaling the smoke into the curling depth of his lungs. The deep exhale releases the tension im his stomach almost instantly. He had never missed nicotine as much as he had this afternoon when he lost his dream job. 

Freddie has his eyes closed in the momentary bliss. 

He can tell the stranger watches him smoke the half finished cigarette. 

When he opens his eyes, blue orbs don't shy away and he openly checks out the curves and smoothness of Freddie’s face. Still swinging his legs to the addictive melody of Revolver. 

It is a shame Freddie finishes the cigarette in barely five drags. He tries to offer it back to the stranger, who nudges Freddie’s wrist back to his own mouth. 

"It's my last, but you need it more than I do." 

Freddie is so touched by this that he forgets he has a full pack of cigs in his coat. His hand rests on his chest. "You're the most kind."

It earns him a warm dimply smile. 

"I'm Roger."

"Freddie Mercury.” 

They shake hands. Rogers hand is warm and slightly smaller than his. Freddie's black painted fingers fascinate the young man before him. Brow furrowing and blinking slowly. 

For the first time since their encounter, Rogers eyes stray from Freddie's face down to his hands. Delicate fingers follow the patterns of Freddie’s veins. 

He tries his hardest to stay still, though he cannot help getting slightly flustered. 

Not only the coat keeps Freddie warm, but the heat radiating from his cheeks helps as well. He notices how his and Rogers thighs are pressed together and Paul McCartneys voice drowns out the howling of the wind. Roger absently mouths along with the song, probably unaware of his own actions.

Freddie is stuck between staring at Rogers angelic face and how his hand is being worshipped. Heart thumping against his ribcage in uncontained excitement. 

Then Freddie’s hand gets slowly flipped over for further examination of his palm and the lines of his hand.

"What do you see?" Freddie asks. Blowing the last drag of smoke into Rogers face.

Blue eyes dart up to his. Rogers cheek are pink from the cold, he is barely wearing any clothes at all. His shirt thin and pants ripped in six different places. 

"I can't read palms, but you have beautiful hands." Roger admits without an inch of shame. His eyes are bright with mirth. "Perhaps you should become a hand model."

"Perhaps so." Freddie chuckles. Hiding his mouth behind his free hand.

Just as Freddie fears he might get let go by his companion, Roger brings Freddie's hand to his own lap, instead of releasing him. His fingers are now clasped between Rogers, kept warm from the cold English winds.

"You're a bit odd, aren't you." Freddie tries not to sound too accusing. Keeping his voice light and matter-of-factly. 

He makes no attempt to take his hand back from Roger. Though he hopes nobody sees it as they walk past the two of them. He doesn’t want the obscure tender moment to be broken. 

Instead, he huddles closer to Roger. Who's shivering in the cold.

"Why are you dressed like that?"

He doesn’t try to be rude, but Roger pouts at the remark. Tugging helplessly on the shirt that keeps riding up his belly. 

"I like it."

"I do too. You look absolutely gorgeous,” Freddie eyes him over. “But you're going to die of hypothermia." 

Roger chuckles. When he shakes his head his hair brushes Freddie's face as well as his own.

Instead of explaining to Roger the importance of adequate seasonal clothing, Freddie begins to undo his own coat, to instead drape it over the two of them. It is big enough.

It easily covers both his and Rogers shoulders if they snuggle in. 

Roger slings one leg over Freddie. Their hands still intertwined in Rogers lap as they practically sit on each other.

"You're a gentleman."

"Barely." Freddie’s cheeks redden under the compliment. Hand _still_ safe between Rogers.

He cuddles even closer to Rogers side when another shiver runs down his spine. Freddie feels bad for him and his skinny limbs. 

Roger observes him through his thick eyelashes. Biting his lip as he stares at Freddie as though he’s charmed. 

"Thank you."

"I should be thanking you. Trying to cheer me up as you are." Freddie clears his throat. “I can’t believe you lifted my mood after I lost my job.” 

Roger bumps his forehead against Freddie’s shoulder. 

"There's no mood the Beatles can't solve."

Silence.

The heavy pit returns to his stomach and he can’t imagine the reaction Roger will have when he and million others find out.

“You’re a big fan huh?”

The proud grin that follows makes Freddie feel slightly guilty for egging it on. 

Then Roger rolls up his left sleeve. Revealing a tattoo.

Freddie jaw drops open.

“Is that-?”

“A Yellow Submarine tattoo?” His teeth flash in the sun. “Yes. Do you like it.”

"Oh Darling... It looks lovely.”

Freddie sighs, brow furrowing in an uneasy frown. His heart sinks into his shoes as he thinks about how devastating the news will be for him. 

"What's that sigh for?" Roger asks. Ducking his neck to catch Freddie’s eyes again. 

It takes a lot of willpower for Freddie not to spread the word and tell Roger. It is weighing on his heart and will safe the blond man of future heartbreak.

But Freddie wants to preserve the softness around the black of Rogers eyes. 

The words get caught in his throat. 

He doesn’t let them out, instead he picks better ones. Comforting ones.

“Just... You’re the most beautiful.”

Rogers mouth goes slack with surprise. His hands squeezes Freddie’s.

And that is how they stay for most of the afternoon. Tangled in each others arms, singing songs, giggling and flirting under the warm sun and freezing wind.

It isn’t until Brian loudly honks his car by the corner of the street that Freddie realizes he has wasted his day away with Roger.

“That’s my ride.” He says. Feeling incredibly lame as he slides down the hood of the car to the pavement.

Roger watches him go, but makes no move to follow. 

It is cold. Freddie shivers without the warmth of another body pressed against his. 

“I’ll miss you.” 

Rogers eyes twinkle as a smile splits his face. Freddie knows his words have left an impact on the blonds warm heart. “I’ll miss you too, Freddie.” 

He has nothing else to say. Protectively wrapping his arms around his cold body as he turns on his heel down the corner of the street once more. Where Brian is impatiently waiting in a no-parking zone. 

Freddie is nearly out of earshot of both Roger and the music from his car when he gets called back.

"Hey Charmer,” Roger holds up the fur fabric with some difficulty. “You forgot your coat."

"Keep it."

Rogers eyes widen. He rubs it experimentally against his cheek. It is soft and real. "It looks expensive."

"I think you should have it." Freddie smiles, remembering the small signature George had embroidered on the inside of the coat.

Brian honks again and Freddie forces his legs to keep moving away from Roger.

"I see you around, blondie."

"Keep your head up." Roger cups his hands around his lips to make his voice carry across the street.

Freddie just barely hears him and whispers into the air,

"You too."

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, thank you so much everyone who participated in Froger week! This made me extremely happy and proud. What a turnout of amazing, beautiful, high quality fanfiction. I am overjoyed with pride.
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed my last piece. Please let me know if you liked it in the comments. I see you all in the next one!


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